


Because I Like To See You Sloppy

by calmlikesurrender



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fingering, First Time, M/M, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmlikesurrender/pseuds/calmlikesurrender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn has Liam and Harry has Louis and then stuff happens to mess it all up. Or to fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because I Like To See You Sloppy

**Zayn.**

        People like to spew sappy bullshit- “Oh, I just knew. Love at first sight. Soulmates.”  _Blah blah blah._ Whatever. Zayn’s not that thick.

        He knows- base lines, concrete, foundation, fundamental carnal instinct.

        He knows the moment he sees Harry that he doesn’t like him, he  _wants_ him. And not to hold his hand, go to the cinema, buy him flowers.

        No, he wants to have that wide smile faltering, lips red and swollen, grip lax, body soaking wet.

        There’s just something about Harry that makes Zayn want to ruin him right from the beginning.

 

**Harry.**

It’s Zayn’s voice, maybe. The way his eyes slip shut and his fingers wrap around the microphone. The way his lips will be so close, just barely skimming the head.

           Then he starts to sing and his voice is so much different than the others, so much different than Harry’s. It’s this smooth sound that coats his rib cage, makes him dizzy when he eases effortlessly into a riff that Harry couldn’t have copied if he’d tried. And Harry can’t stop watching him. He misses the chorus and Liam asks him if he’s okay.

           “You seem distracted,” he says, and Harry wants to laugh.

           Because he is. So damn distracted. When Zayn’s eyes will trail up his torso, leaving welts and burns and he’ll lick his lips, then lean into Liam, or joke around with Niall, leaving Harry feeling exposed and breathless without the faintest clue why.

**Zayn.**

            Zayn doesn’t do labels, he’s more of whatever-floats-your-boat kind of guy, but if you’re close enough to him and wonder? He’ll say bisexual most days.

            And he’s had enough experience with blokes from back home to know that Harry’s close to the same. Maybe even fully there, and from the way he looks at Zayn, all guttural and needy, Zayn knows he’s got a pretty clear invitation to Harry’s pants.

            If he can get Louis to steer clear of him for a few seconds.

            And Louis’ Zayn’s friend. One of his best friends. He just has this way of getting right in the middle of Zayn’s fervent attempts at deflowering the curls.

            It gets so bad for a while that Zayn starts to think maybe Harry’s not interested in him at all, but then he gets those looks again. He and Harry will just sort of gaze at each other, not saying a word. He’ll lick his lips and Harry will watch him and it’s just- Okay, there’s no way in hell he’s not half hard already.

            He might have a thing for Louis, but he has a thing for Zayn, too. Zayn’s certain of it.

            Then it’s a logical jump to just start draping his arm around Liam a little more.

            He’ll lean into him and sneak glances to Harry, checking that he’s noticing. And it’s this weird high, to watch Harry flush and squirm across the room. To watch Harry embarrassed at being spotted, to watch Harry jealous.

            He’ll pull Liam away just to talk, but put his arm around his waist on the way out, knowing it’ll leave Harry a red, confused mess- not sure what they’re actually doing behind the closed door.

            Talking, mostly. Liam’s straight as a ruler.

            But it doesn’t matter.

            The thought is enough to get Harry hot and bothered, and that’s all he really cares about.

**Harry.**

            It’s wrong to use people.

When everything you do is slow and deliberate and torturous… Harry knows that.  He’s just too far in to even think about it anymore. It isn’t sadism, he just needs someone and Lou is always there and willing and so close. Not quite what he wants, but close enough.

            It starts with these looks- he and Louis will catch each other’s eyes.

            And Harry likes it because Louis’ aren’t that cruel, mocking brown. They’re something brighter, something simpler- a misty blue.

            Something Harry can get lost in, take his mind off of the boy who permeates his thoughts day and night.

            So Louis is Harry’s lifeline.

            And Harry knows- It’s wrong to play with people like that. To toy with their emotions. He sees the way Louis looks at him…

            But he doesn’t want love if it means falling asleep in Louis’ welcoming arms. He wants Zayn.

            But Zayn has Liam. 

            So Harry opts for second-best.

            And he’ll kiss Louis with his eyes closed- tight enough to imagine hot, tanned skin and plump, bruised lips, and it works so he doesn’t stop.

            Even when he knows Louis slips his arms around him in the middle of the night, places cool kisses to the back of his neck. Even when he knows Louis watches him the way  _he_  watches Zayn. Even when he’ll see Louis shut down completely when they’re locked in some angry embrace, just heat and skin and rough hands and Harry will moan into Louis’ touch, “Fuck,  _Zayn_ ,” like a curse, but, “God, no, Lou. I’m sorry, don’t stop.  _Please_.”

            And Louis loves him, so he doesn’t.

            But he’ll slip away to the bathroom once Harry’s out cold, and he’ll take a long shower, letting the scorching steam and the sound of the pounding water on the tile drown out his wrecking sobs.

**Zayn.**

            So when you’re aiming for ‘conquest’, is it standard to sort of stare? Like, not a bold-faced stare most of the time (except once when Liam had to shake him to make him even notice), but just a fond eye-following around the room…

            He doesn’t even notice he’s doing it really. He just knows he can’t help it.

            And well, it’s not just the staring, alright. It’s how he’ll light up like a girl if Harry compliments him.

            “Hey, you sounded great, mate,” he’ll say during a rehearsal or something and Zayn’s heart will do this really annoying pounding thing and he’ll have to take deep breaths just to focus enough for a ‘thank you’.

            And Zayn’s not sure if it’s normal to be this infatuated with someone you just want to shag. Like, to feel a tinge of irritation when someone messes up Harry’s tea order. Just, come on, it’s so simple. Or when they give him the wrong size shoes or forget that he doesn’t like those little candies with the crumbly sugar stuff on top. Zayn’s just there shaking his head, his hands on his hips, ready to pommel anyone who brings Harry the wrong kind of water bottle.

            It’s just that, well, he realizes- somewhere between them leaving X-Factor and landing in the states to open for BTR- that he doesn’t deserve Harry at all.

            Erm, he’s Zayn. Okay? He’s a fucking king.

            But Harry’s got something deep down that Zayn didn’t see at first, and it makes the whole get-him-to-bed thing kind of difficult to wrap his head around. He just wants one night initially. Not too much to ask. But the longer he realizes he- likes- him, the more he thinks that maybe one night won’t be enough. Like, maybe he’d like more than a rushed fondling between their sheets.

            Then there’s the fact that Harry’s constantly snuggled up to Louis and well, Zayn doesn’t even want to go there. He can’t compete with  _that._

            Unless Harry’s some sort of sick masochist.

  **Harry.**

            He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. It just… does.

            It’s like Louis and him are a thing and that’s okay. They never explicitly discussed the specifics, but well, they kiss a little. They sleep around.

            Except when Louis suggests maybe  _actually_  sleeping around, it makes Harry’s head get all dizzy and he can’t think straight and he has to leave the flat like, now or he thinks he’ll be sick.

            Louis offers to walk with him, but Harry just shrugs him off. He’s hurt, he can tell, but he’s too out of it himself to offer any support.

            Because, well, he’s thinking about _it_. And he’s thinking about how far he and Louis actually got. And it makes sense maybe. It’s a logical jump- you blow each other every night, might as well go for gold and actually be there… inside…

            Except, no, God no. He doesn’t even want to think about it.

            And the worse thing is, it’s not Louis.

            Well, it’s the sex and it’s Louis obviously, but it’s Zayn, too.  It’s this pressure on Harry’s chest whenever he sees Zayn with Liam and he knows, though he can’t exactly tell his best friend, that if Zayn had been the one to offer- “Hey, Harry, we’ve been fooling around for a while now. Want to have real sex this time?” He knows he would have said yes in an instant.

            Because it just feels like a thing you’re supposed to be doing with someone… special. And Louis’ special, yeah. He’s great, but he doesn’t make Harry want to rip his hair out, or make him see stars, or block out the sun, or anything.

            He doesn’t make constant appearances in his day dreams, you know? He’s just not enough.

**Zayn.**

He tries.

            Maybe not very hard, but he  _does_ try to shake those idiotic notions- that he might, just maybe, be someone Harry wants.

            It should be easy enough

            For a few months, he watches Harry and Louis become ‘those two’. People will say it, and they’ll smile like it’s something unavoidable. Like they’re a pair.

            And it’s rough, but he sees the way Louis looks at Harry and everyone knows Lou’s falling hard.

            And Harry isn’t quite as enthralled, but he would be. Eventually.

            Right?

            And Zayn figures that if he isn’t going to be spending his nights in Harry’s bed, he couldn’t have asked for a better replacement.

            But then the months keep coming, and Louis and Harry get more and more close, letting their touches linger longer, leaning in to each other like they were going for kisses, only to pull away with flushed cheeks, realizing that they aren’t alone.

             And Louis, God, could he be any more transparent- Louis’ gone.

        But Harry still seems unsure, and Zayn has these elaborate day dreams where he takes Harry from Louis’ arm and he tells him how he can be better than Louis. In every way.

            How much Harry could start to love him.

            And it begins to eat away at him. So much so that when Zayn thinks he finally can’t take another minute of harboring his secret, he heads straight for Liam’s flat. Liam because he’s the most level-headed. And because he can’t go to Louis. Of course not. But he can’t go to Niall either.

            Except Niall’s there, too.

            And then somehow he’s telling them both, pacing back and forth in front of the sofa where they sit. Niall’s expression is clearly shock. Liam’s is unreadable.

            Except Zayn just knows, without Liam or Niall saying it explicitly.

             _Harry’s- good_ … and it ends there, but in the sad, determined countenance of those two sets of eyes, God it’s so clear.

            “Harry’s good,” they say with forced smiles,  _Harry’s too good for you_.

            But Zayn knows already. How could he not?

            When he watches Harry enter a room and  _radiate_  like the fucking sun or something. And Harry laughs and smiles and flirts, the bastard, and makes it look so effortless.

            But Zayn can never seem to force more than a satisfied grunt in place of genuine laughter, and his smile is always some desecrate set to his lips, a jagged line that sinks down to the floor instead of up to his eyes. 

            “What about Louis?” Niall says after a while.

            It’s like a blow to the gut.

            “What about him?” Zayn snaps back, much harsher than he intends. But that seems to be how it always works. He tries for subtle, but before he knows it, people are giving him this look-  _What’s wrong with you?_

            Liam gives him a reprimanding glance, but Zayn only ignores him, narrowing his eyes at Niall instead.

            “Why is it always Louis?” Zayn asks then, really more to himself than anyone else.

            But Liam swoops in, trying to ease the tension somehow.

            “Maybe there’s nothing there,” he says, looking from Niall to Zayn with wide, hopeful eyes, “Maybe they really are just quite close.”

            Still a little thrown from the shock of finding out Zayn even had a crush on Harry, let alone something as strong as, holy hell,  _love_?- Niall scoffs, finally putting two and two together.

            “If you’re gay, and I never even had a clue, then surely those two are screwing around. They practically get into it when we’re right there. I’d be surprised if they  _weren’t_ sleeping together, actually.”

            And he probably meant well, just trying to clear the air with a little blunt honesty like he always does.

            But it took all of Liam’s strength to dodge purposed fists and pry Zayn off of Niall a second after he’d said it.

**Harry.**

So people say that you can be all nerves and shaky and sweaty and completely out of control, but Harry’s always felt like it was exaggeration. Until today.

            He’s got his hands tight around Zayn’s door knob and it’s pretty much the most terrified he’s been in his entire life. Because he’s going to finally say it.

            He’d practiced over and over in the mirror- even dragging Louis to him after a while to practice with another face.

            “Hey, so I like you,” he’d say to Louis, imagining Zayn all serious in front of him, “Like, I really like you. I think you like me, too.”

            He’d raise his eye brows are Louis, stopping and cursing under his breath when he shook his head.

            “It’s shit, right? Damn, what am I supposed to say?”

            After another two hours, they’d finally gotten it down to something that wasn’t embarrassing or soppy and here he was… at Zayn’s door… shaking…

            Except he’s nervous for no reason.

            Zayn practically jumps into his arms when he asks.

            “I’d like to- maybe, erm be, you know,  _more._  More than what we are. If that’s uh, alright. With you. Uh, if that’s okay.”

            Zayn just laughs and pulls him in and it’s their first kiss and it’s sort of sloppy and there’s too much teeth, but it’s still perfect somehow. Maybe because they’d waited for so long.

 

—

 

            It’s not that Zayn’s bored- he and Harry have great sex.

            Amazing sex.

            You know, toe-curling, breathless, sweaty, dirty, bruises-for-weeks sex. It’s just that there’s only so much area you can cover with your tongue and fingers before you start to… wonder.

            The first time it comes up, it’s just Harry and him lying out like they usually do on their days off- wrapped around each other, slow lazy kisses, too comfortable to really put much effort in.

            When Zayn starts to smile, remembering a particularly rude something Harry had said the night before, he feels a grin spread across Harry’s lips, too and they pull apart, just watching each other with sleepy eyes.

            “Mmm, you called me a slut, didn’t you?” he asks, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe it.

            “Maybe?”

            “As far as conquests go, I think you bested me sometime in Australia,” he says, matter of fact.

            A fond glimmer sparks in Harry’s eyes then and he looks away dramatically, as if trying to recall the hazy pieces of a good memory.

            “Ah, Australia. Good time for me,” he says, “I remember a particularly racous night. Three-“

            Zayn laughs, pulling him a little closer.

            “I hate to be an ass, but can we not talk about how many girls you’ve been in?”

            Harry cocks an eyebrow at Zayn then.

            “Jealous? Alright, well, no girls,” he says teasingly, “Rather talk about how many blokes I’ve been in?”

            And he expects a little banter, some cheeky remark on Zayn’s side, but he’s only met with the strangest expression as Zayn digs into his bottom lip roughly like he does when he’s nervous.

            “How many?” Zayn says, his voice hushed like he’s afraid there might be someone listening in.

            Harry can feel his heart start to pound and he wonders absently if Zayn can feel it, too. If they’re close enough for that.

            When he finally speaks, it takes all of his willpower to actually meet Zayn’s eyes.

            “How many for you?” he says, though he’s afraid to know the answer.

            No, they had never quite discussed how far their  _experimenting_  had gone before they were officially together, but it was obvious from the first time they’d messed around that Zayn had known what to do, taking lead as he tugged Harry’s trousers down, gripping him in rough jerks but it was  _good_. Really good. And when he scurried lower to rest between Harry’s legs, spreading them wide and taking him into his mouth, that certainly spoke of experience, too- Harry was writhing into the sheets, panting out in pathetic needy moans a moment after.

            Only, it had always been like there was an imaginary boundary neither was willing to admit they were afraid to cross.

            But Harry would constantly wonder if Zayn and Liam maybe ever got that close. If they let out their frustrations some days in dark rooms with frantic clawing and gripping and- he didn’t even want to think about it, but-

             _Fucking._

            And Zayn would remember the messy hair and satisfied grins as Harry and Louis slipped out to breakfast together, saying so much without a word. He’d wonder for one agonizing moment whether their eyes were hooded and wild simply from a long night of rough kisses and purposed hands, or… something more.

            But neither said a word to the other.

            It was almost like they were afraid to even breach the topic.

            Strangely enough, it was Liam, of all people, who initiated it the first time.

They’d been sitting around watching something random, Zayn and Harry snuggled up into each other. Niall was watching the screen lazily, shoving crisps into his mouth. Louis was oddly silent, typing away at his phone. When a commercial came on for condoms, Niall made a blunt joke about Harry and Zayn’s sex life, and Liam was the only one who seemed to notice the way both of their cheeks flushed.

How Harry mumbled under his breath something about them not even needing condoms at all.

After the show was over, Liam had called them into the kitchen and, though he had amazing intentions, given them the most uncomfortable questioning of their lives where they explained that they hadn’t exactly gotten  _that_  far yet.

He just nodded to them, strangely serious and unphased by their discomfort, matter-of-fact tone, “Well, if you like each other, what’s stopping you?”

So Liam had initiated it.

Who was the reason they sat down, at an awkward distance at first, across Harry’s dining room table with steaming mugs of tea, and discussed it.

             _It._

—

“You know, we’re going to need… stuff…” Zayn says, rambling a little, but it’s hard not to. Especially when Harry’s eyes are making a valiant effort to avoid his. He isn’t quite sure why this is so awkward. It isn’t like he’d never gone to the store for condoms or lube before.

            Maybe it’s just the fact of why they’re going this time.

            As if they thought the moment they walked into the shop, every head would whip around, start to whisper in hissing, gossipy voices “Those boys. You see, they’re buying lube for all that gay sex they’re going to have.”

            Highly unlikely, sure. But it still stands that they’re anxious as hell.

            “Well,” Harry says, finding his voice finally, jutting his chin out, shoulders back in a diplomatic manner, “I think you should be the one to go.”

            Zayn raises his eyebrows at him.        

            “And why me?”

            “Well, because you’re the experienced one here,” he says, watching Zayn then, almost daring him to deny it.

            After a long sigh, he just shakes his head.

            “How about we go together, yeah?”

            Harry rolls his eyes, giving him a frustrated look.

            “Yeah, sure. That should really clear up the gay rumors.”

—

            Zayn tries to stifle his laugh, but by the time it slips out, he’s nearly choking, his eyes tearing up.

            “No way,” he manages, trying to catch his breath, “You mean to tell me the  _famous_  Harry Styles has never had anal before? I thought you were supposed to be a sex god or something.”

            Harry scoffs, sitting back on his heels and folding his arms across his chest.

            “And you have?

            It’s only met with more laughter.

            “‘Course,” he says with a cheeky grin that makes Harry even more irritated because of how damn gorgeous it makes him look. His eyes half closed. That obnoxious smirk. Not for the first time, Harry wonders how Zayn can manage to make him want to punch him and suck him off at the same time.

            “-like to think it’s my calling,” Zayn’s saying, still rambling on, unaware Harry had all but zoned out for a moment there.

            “Okay, well if you’re so damn good at it, tell me what to do.”

“Now?” Zayn says, giving him a pointed look, “Well, we could start with all those clothes.”

            So they make a show of undressing each other. Well, actually undressing Zayn as Harry insists that he loves the way his skin looks all golden in the dim light, how his tattoos stand out so much.

            Harry holds onto him, tight, steady, and he hopes Zayn can’t feel how badly his hands are shaking because  _this_  is alright. He knows how to do this- he hooks his fingers in the belt loops of Zayn’s khakis and tugs them down to his knees- This he can manage. Later will be new territory, wholly unfamiliar.

            “Tell me what to do,” he says again, lifting his arms over his head so Zayn can help him out of his shirt.

            “Hand me the lube,” Zayn says when they’re both bare-chested, him fully naked, Harry somehow still clad in his black boxers.

            He takes the bottle in his hands and squeezes out a little, rubbing it between his fingers.

            “Okay, it’s easy. Just- Give me your hand.”

            When he holds it out, Zayn squeezes an ample amount right in the middle. He lies down then on his back.

            He nods for Harry to come closer, and when he’s settled between his legs, he kisses him a few times. Just to ease the tension. He can tell Harry’s nervous- though, he thinks absently,  _he_  isn’t the one about to have someone’s dick split him wide open.

            Zayn guides Harry’s hand to him, wincing a little at the sudden cold touch, but he offers Harry a tentative smile anyway.

            “Just like a girl, alright? You’ve got to work me up.”

            Harry looks down at Zayn’s face, just shaking his head.

            “Except girls are, you know- self- uh, self-”

            “Lubricated?” Zayn offers, and they both laugh a little.

            Once Harry seems more comfortable with the position, sliding his fingers just along his hole, trailing his other hand along his thigh, Zayn sits up a little on his elbows and whispers into his ear.

            “Except I guarantee I’ll be tighter than any girl you’ve ever been with.”

            —

            “Relax,” Harry coos, placing soothing kisses to his inner thighs, slowly stroking him up, drawing his thumb over the head each time his lips meet Zayn’s flushed skin.

            Even when he’s thoroughly hard in his hand, filthy content moans not quite muffled, Harry waits until he feels the familiar slickness of Zayn’s precum on his palm before pressing into him gently with one finger.

            Or at least, his  _aim_  is gentle. Except from Zayn’s pained groan and the way he clenches around the digit, Harry assumes it was anything but.

            “Ungh, god, Harry! What the hell?”

            He could feel an angry rush to his cheeks, and hoped it was dim enough in the room that Zayn couldn’t see. He was self- conscious enough as it were.

            “What is it?” he says, trying to keep his hand steady, afraid that moving will only make it worse. “Should I-“

            “No,” Zayn says quickly, reaching out between his legs to rest his hand on Harry’s wrist, “Just uh- just give me a minute, alright?”

            After a few long breaths, and a while that to Harry seems awfully like an eternity, he seems to relax.

            Harry moves on the bed a little then, kissing his way up Zayn’s chest, muttering apologies into his dark skin. When he reaches his ear, Zayn surprises him, turning his head a little to meet his lips in a slow kiss.

            “I’m sorry,” Harry says, once they’ve pulled away. Then he kisses the tip of Zayn’s nose the way he knows always makes him laugh.

            “I don’t know what happened. I did like you said- one finger, nice and slow and…  _oh_.”

            “Yeah!” Zayn quipped, nipping hard at Harry’s bottom lip, but trying hard to hide a smile, “You forgot ‘joint by joint’, you git. No wonder it felt like I was being impaled.”

—

            He takes his time after that, working up to it. Once he’s more confident, sure of each stroke of his fingers, he can tell Zayn’s in some weird bliss. He’s loosening him up slowly with his fingers and his tongue- the latter producing a string of rough curses that Harry proudly sucks right out of him. Once he’d gotten the hang of it, it really was like with a girl. Except… better.

            For all he does to Zayn’s hole, he doesn’t touch his cock, batting Zayn’s hand away when he tries himself.

            “Don’t,” he breathes, warm into Zayn’s entrance, licking up slowly between his two fingers, “Don’t touch yourself.”

            When Zayn groans, his eye lids squeezed tight like he might lose it, Harry gives in a little, reaching up with his free hand to cup Zayn’s balls. Dragging his nails across the sensitive skin.

            “Harry, I think I’m- Mmm, babe, I think I’m ready.”

            He can hear the desperation under the calm tone, his voice breaking between words.

            Harry doesn’t stop.

            If anything, it’s what prompts him to ease into him more, sliding a third finger beside the others.

            Zayn’s hips jerk up immediately at the new sensation, overwhelmed, ready to beg. Because, fuck, he  _needs_  it.

            “Harry, God, please just-”

            He can’t even make it past that, words getting jumbled into filthy moans when Harry pulls his fingers out just a little to clamp his lips around Zayn’s opening- sucking unashamedly at the puckered skin, his tongue flicking out to slip inside him, lapping at his inner walls.

            Harry plays with him like that, unable to hide his own moans, watching Zayn’s chest rise and fall as he tries to catch his breath. Watching him glance down at him, then quickly drop his head back against the pillows, the eye contact just a little too much.

            It’s hot and Harry’s own cock is straining against his boxers, but he waits for more, not stopping until he sees another fat bead of precum on the head of Zayn’s cock.

            “Harry, tell me. Just tell me why.”

            He laughs then, this malicious chuckle that digs deep into his dimples.

            “Because I like to see you sloppy,” he says, kissing Zayn’s inner thighs, “No one else gets to see that. You’re so put together for the cameras,” He nuzzles his nose into the dark spirals of his pubic hair, breathing in the sharp, mucsk scent he can never get enough of, “Because I like that I can make you whimper. I like to see you all fucked out.”

            “No,” Zayn says then, suddenly, his voice higher than before. Harry sits back, stopping his hand and just… watching him, waiting… “No, tell me why. Tell me why me and not him.”

            “Zayn, this isn’t-”

            “I need to know. Because I’m not him,” he says, voice shaking, “I’m not Louis.”

Harry stops then, just watching him, afraid he’ll continue. Afraid he won’t.

            “What about Louis?” Harry says.

            Zayn tugs on his bottom lip, trying to grind down, to take in more of Harry’s fingers, but he presses a firm hand on his abdomen, holding him steady.

            “Louis’ just- He’s- Fuck,  _move_  or something, please,” Zayn begs finally, too turned on to even be embarrassed. It’s just that Harry’s fingers seem so much bigger, stretching him, pressing so close to that spot inside him that makes him see stars behind his eyes. And he doesn’t even know why he said anything; it just felt like the right moment. He wanted to be closer to him, and then the words were tumbling out.

              “Tell me and I’ll-” Harry leans in so they’re face to face, not even sure of what he’s going to say before he says it, “Tell me and I’ll fuck you.”

            He feels Zayn’s body clench around his fingers, watches his eyes slip shut, and knows that it worked.

            “He’s just- God, he’s good. Okay? He’s perfect,” Zayn stammers, finding it difficult to form the words with the barrage of sensations, “He just fits and there’s no work. And the way- Ungh, fuck you,” he hisses, voice dropping low and husky.

            “Go ahead,” Harry pleads, losing any pretense of being the dominant one. He finds himself suddenly enthralled, hanging onto his words like they might slip away somehow.

            “The way he looks at you. I can’t- I’m not- He’s this-” He bites down on his bottom lip so hard then that it slips from his teeth a fiery red.

            Any other time and Harry might have laughed at that.

             _Perfect? Good? The way he looks at you?_  It was like he was describing Liam, not Louis. Even now that he knew Zayn’s relationship with Liam had been more hoax than anything, he still found himself irrationally jealous.

            “Louis’ my best friend,” he says, “But I never saw him that way. I swear.”

            “What about the way he sees you?”

            And it’s like someone dunks him in a tub of ice. Harry feels the temperature in the room drop.

            “That doesn’t matter,” he says firmly. Or tries to say.

            It comes out quiet, almost a whisper, and he feels like a child being reprimanded.

            He tries again, “Zayn, I don’t want Louis just how you don’t want Liam.”

            There’s a moment where they just stare at each other, both not sure where to go, what to say. Then Zayn’s pulling him down by his neck, kissing him slow, just the brief touch of lips.

            Harry slips his fingers from Zayn and runs them up his arm instead, watching him when he drags them, still sticky, over his nipple.

            “So it’s decided? No more talk of how stupid we were in the beginning?”

            When Zayn nods, he kisses him again, deeper this time.

            “Good. Because while you’ve been here moaning around like a whore, I’ve had zero contact.”

            “You could have opted for  _fucked_  instead of  _fucker_ ,” Zayn reminds him, feeling oddly empty now that Harry’s fingers had slipped away. It wasn’t bad, just… different, to suddenly realize how good it had actually felt.

            Harry steals another quick kiss before reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing one of the little gold packets.

“No, wait. I’ll do it,” Zayn says, sitting up slowly and taking the wrapper from Harry’s hands.

            His eyes are still hooded and glazed, blown with the foggy high of being so close for so long, but he looks at Harry with so much focus.

            “Ready?” he says.

            But instead of his hand, Zayn slips the condom between his lips.

            “Uh, Zayn, what are you-  _oh_.”

            Okay.                                   

            Alright, so this is new.

            After ridding him of his boxers, tossing them hastily onto the floor, Zayn leans in over Harry’s groin, slipping the condom down his shaft slowly with just his tongue and the brief hint of teeth, cheeks hollowing a little once he’s got it on. He looks up at Harry with his eyes dark, almost sinister, in the eerie light. And Harry has to jerk his gaze away, focusing on a spot on the back wall, sure if he watches him another second he’ll lose it before they even start.

            After what seems like the longest moment of his life, he feels Zayn pull away, and he can finally look at him again.

            “Where’d you learn that?” he asks, a little breathless.

            Zayn just shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like Harry’s not buzzed, gripping the sheets in his fingers so tight he thinks they might start cramping.

            “Rebecca used to do it,” Zayn says, “I figured it can’t be that hard.”

            “No, trust me. It’s pretty fucking hard…”

            He looks at Harry, puzzled at first, then laughs, slapping his thigh playfully.

            With a wink, he lies back on the bed, his head by the pillows, “Then let’s do something about that, yeah?”

—

            God, this  _sucks._

That’s all Zayn thinks as he feels Harry inside of him- still so fucking weird to even think those words.

            “Do you want more?” Harry says, leaning over to press his lips to the back of Zayn’s neck.

             _Not yet, no._ He’s thinking. Maybe even,  _hell no_ because even with all of the prep he and Harry had dutifully trudged through, he still felt like someone was trying to tear him open. Not exactly sexy if he was being honest.

            And it’s another few minutes, and Harry’s big hands working magic on his cock, until he is finally able to tell him to move again.

            And then another long while before Harry is finally in him, settled to the hilt (after which they both snicker like children at all of the good, dirty anal jokes they know off the top of their heads).

            Even then, it still isn’t exactly… pleasant.

            “Does it hurt?” Harry says, doing as good a job as he can not to move, but it’s not easy. Zayn feels good around his dick, all hot and slick and tight. Really good. Like, better than he would have thought and he’s aching to just pull out a little and start ramming into him.

            “No, it’s just… It’s pressure. Feels… weird.”

            Harry can’t help but laugh then.

            “Yeah, pressure,” he says and it seems like ages before Zayn finally asks him to move. Please.

—

            He yanks him closer by his hips so that he’s almost in Harry’s lap, so that with the new angle he’s hitting Zayn’s prostate with every thrust.

            And he bites back a moan when he feels Zayn shiver in his grip, head thrown back against the pillows, spine arched as a new wave of pleasure wrecks through him.

            “Zayn,” he mutters, dragging his nails across the flat plain of his stomach, digging mercilessly into the ink of his newest tattoo, a black crescent moon just by his navel, “Zayn, fuck.  _Look_  at me.”

            He clenches around Harry’s cock again, just at the sound of his own name thrown at him, filthy drawl from Harry’s swollen lips.

            “I-I can’t, god. Touch me.”

            He leans in a little then, wrapping his long fingers around Zayn’s dick, just holding him in a tight grip at the base, unmoving.

            Zayn groans at the contact. Because it feels good, fuck, so good. But it’s not enough.

            “Touch me,” Zayn says again, prompting Harry to move.

            He only squeezes harder, slowing his thrusts to shallow grinds. It’s killing him, honestly, because he craves that tight heat, but he wants to see Zayn’s face when he comes. Needs to see it. Those muddy brown pools on fire, but maybe wet. Fuck, glossed over, tearing up, the weird by product of his ministrations.

            “Please,” he pleads, grinding his hips down, seeking friction- anything, his eyes still sealed shut.

            “Not enough,” Harry quips, then moves his hand up Zayn’s shaft slowly, achingly slowly, just barely reaching the head before sliding down again. It’s not until he leans in more, until their faces are just about close enough for their lips to touch, that Zayn’s eye lids open. He bites back a moan, pressing his lips to Harry’s a moment, until his jaw drops and his eyes roll back. Until his hips are jerking up to meet Harry’s in quick, sporadic thrusts. Until he’s crying out Harry’s name, then whispering it under his breath over and over and over. A steady flow, static, background noise to the slick slide of their sweaty skin as Harry rolls his hips down to meet his.

            “Fuck. Fuck.  _Fuck_.”

            It’s all he can get out before he feels Zayn tighten around him, and then he’s coming all over his stomach, hands over Harry’s on his hips. 

            Harry just fucks him through it, chasing his own, but wanting to drag out the feeling as long he can. All it takes is Zayn looking up at him, breathless and limp, his lips set in a lazy content smile, for Harry to come, too.

—

            “Wow,” Zayn says, once he’s come down enough to form words again, “Where’d you learn that?”

            Harry chuckles, leaning into his side more, just craving as much skin as he can get.

            “Which part?” he says.

            Zayn just looks down at him incredulously, “Are you serious? God, that thing you did with your fingers. Right at the beginning,” he lets out a long breath, shaking his head like just remembering is a little too much, “and your mouth.”

            “Not bad?”

            “I thought I was going to die.”

            “Well, you had Rebecca,” Harry says, turning to kiss the plane between Zayn’s shoulder and his collar bone, pausing a little longer on the dark writing of his tattoo there, “I had Caroline.”

            Zayn’s too weightless to even bother with jealousy.

            “Lucky bitch,” he says, squirming a little under Harry’s touch, feeling his cock start to respond to the light trail of his lips, “Well then I guess we’re even. And you know you’ve got to teach me that sometime.”

             Harry smiles at him with a mischievous grin.

            “Why not now?”

 


End file.
